


Confrontations

by wintergalaxy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anti-Octavia, Canonical Drug Use, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Hugs, Kinda fluff, My First Work in This Fandom, Past Tense, Post 5x05, Two Shot, lots of hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-14 09:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergalaxy/pseuds/wintergalaxy
Summary: Two different one-shots post-5x05, both centered around standoffs between characters. One chapter is from Clarke’s perspective and one is from Bellamy’s (and briefly Abby’s).





	1. Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so this is my first go at a fic! Hopefully it’s not too terrible...

She was angry.

But not at her, or him.

No, Clarke was upset only with herself. And her life in general, while she was at it.

Because really, what had she expected? She had never told him how she felt, even as they were exchanging bittersweet, unspoken goodbyes—which, for all she had known, could have been their last. It had been six years. That whole time, he thought she was dead. They and the rest of their friends had been stuck up there, unsure if they would ever make it back down. 

And Clarke wanted Bellamy to be happy. Even if she wasn’t.

That’s why that day she tried to kill herself, she first tried to reassure him that he’d done the right thing by leaving. Clarke knew he was blaming himself as always, and hoped her words, if he was listening, would alleviate that somewhat. If she truly had died in Praimfaya, she would have wanted Bellamy to move on.

Even now, despite Echo, she was glad he was happy.

But it still _hurt_. Like being punched in the stomach. Like all of the breath had left her body in an instant, and she had to gulp raggedly to get it back.

Because she had spent six years practicing what she would say when she saw him again. She had talked to him and about him so much that even Madi knew her true feelings, despite how closed-off about them she tried to be. She had waited desperately for him, longing for the smallest of touches that, much as she loved Madi, was more than familial.

Now, he was finally back. He’d saved her, hugged her tight, nearly pulled her onto his lap even, and settled into their old routine effortlessly. Within a day, they were once again making strategic decisions together, exchanging knowing glances leaden with silent understanding, and touching each other unnecessarily every chance they could. Clarke had thought, for the smallest, naïvest of moments, that everything was the same again.

Yet even though every cell in her body burned with desire, even though she was starving for intimacy like she was gasping for air, something had told Clarke to hold herself back. Like always. It was always better to think before acting. 

Because surely, six years were not nothing. It was a quarter of her entire life, and a fifth of his. In that time, she’d become a surrogate parent. Bellamy had to have changed as well, just in ways that she hadn’t seen yet. Beyond even his more diplomatic, measured manner. 

Now, after seeing them, she knew how.

And reality set in.

She was more of a ghost to him than tangible, real, alive. 

He had touched her because he was in love with the concept of her more than anything. Though she knew he would never intentionally hurt anyone he loved, he hardly considered the implications of his behavior—the message it might send to both women—because he was so wrapped up in the novelty of it all to notice. 

Ultimately, she was just the memory of someone he had lost and already mourned. A ghost.

And Clarke wasn’t about to mess up his happiness now. 

She wasn’t going to disrespect Echo, either, because that just wasn’t Clarke. When she first found out about Raven, she had immediately distanced herself from Finn, and held him and his overtures at arm’s length until the day he died. She would do the same thing now.

Anyway, if Bellamy trusted her, she must be different now. Reformed. Therefore, probably undeserving of any of Clarke’s potential interference in their relationship.

And, most important of all, Clarke didn’t want to set herself up for rejection.

If she did, it might possibly break her. For so many reasons, she felt as though she was one bad experience away from bursting into tears. It was too much of a risk right now.

So, as badly as it hurt, there were too many reasons that she had to be pragmatic now.

 _The head and the heart_ , she reminded herself painfully. _Follow your own advice, Clarke_.

Besides, Clarke wasn’t about to stir up an issue that was impertinent to securing the survival of the human race. She could worry about her feelings later, when they weren’t all at war. 

Though, she mused, feeling a flicker of annoyance unrelated to the matter at hand, it seemed like those were always the stakes. 

She wished it wasn’t that way. She had enough to contend with without the burden of everyone else’s survival on her shoulders as well. But that burden was the one which everyone on this planet had decided to assign to her, in blaming her for the deaths of so many. By turning her into a borderline religious figure, another part of the Grounder mythos.

The great, revered yet reviled _Wanheda_ , epicenter of death but evader of it herself. 

If she was responsible for the deaths, that meant she was first responsible for the lives.

Well, she was still going to do what she needed to do to survive, of course. That meant killing, if necessary. Like how she still believed she had done the right thing in eliminating some of Diyoza’s disciples when they first landed.

As she’d told Madi, there were no good guys. Those soldiers had posed a threat, so Clarke eliminated that threat.

However, while she _was_ that person, _Wanheda_ —she shuddered, hating the mere thought of the title—she was also her friends’ savior. 

Bellamy had confessed the other night in the tent they’d also mythologized her on the Ring. Not formally, but they’d invoked her name and memory all the time. Mentioning her noble actions and how they each owed her their lives. 

This new title, while unintentional and likewise burdensome, was something that actually also made Clarke a little bit happy. She wanted to keep that persona alive for whatever reason, even though she knew it wasn’t inherently her. Real Clarke was actually much closer to _Wanheda_.

Essentially, there were more important things to do than stand here and feel sorry for herself, her head was saying.

Instead, she tried to focus on being a savior and saving Echo’s—and more importantly, possibly Bellamy’s—life.

So she turned reluctantly to survey the scene.

Right away, she saw that Octavia had murder in her eyes.

And Clarke knew all too well she was perfectly capable of it. 

After all, how many people had she personally seen Octavia slice to pieces? Had she not once beaten both Lincoln and Bellamy, the two most important people in her life? To her, violence was more than just the means to an end that it was for the rest of them. It was an outlet for festering anger and resentment, a means for control, something she could revel in.

Now, she was free from the influence of Bellamy, other Grounders, and even Kane, that had once kept her restrained and under control. She had been acting with impunity for years. Now, she was so far gone that she had already threatened to kill her own brother once today, unprovoked. Now, she led a gladiator cult, as Bellamy had aptly phrased it, and killed anyone who disagreed with her. Or had others do the dirty work for her, rather.

Last night, Clarke had told Bellamy she admired her—but then she threatened Bellamy unblinkingly for a minor disagreement and all of that changed in an instant. Clarke could see clearly now.

How far gone this person before her was from the girl she’d once known. The girl with the butterflies was deader than any of the people she’d ever killed.

She had to be stopped.

Octavia stood, anger radiating off her, and Clarke tensed as several guards, including an ashamed-looking Miller, followed suit and closed ranks around her. 

This could get very ugly very fast.

Bellamy seemed to think the same thing. As Clarke looked at him, he shut his eyes as though bracing himself. Opening them again, he took a placating tone, holding up his hands slightly. “Listen, O—”

“I banished her,” she snarled, her eyes fixated maniacally on Echo, who stood her ground warily. “She should be _dead_.”

Clarke attempted to step in front of her. “Okay, let’s just all calm...down…”

She faltered at the sudden drawing of so many blades and guns in her direction.

Octavia nodded curtly at one of her guards, and before Clarke knew what had happened, the man had grabbed her and pressed a small knife against her larynx. He held her head upward at a painful angle, forcing her to stare directly at the sun, but she still registered both Bellamy starting and Madi yelling, “No!” from the direction of the rover, which she had returned to in order to help the others unpack.

“Shut up, Clarke,” said Octavia, “or Costa here will do it for you.”

She groaned softly, dejected and miserable.

Why did this always happen? Murphy, Emerson, Roan, Echo...now this one...Funny. She’d probably ally with him in the future, too, the way things were going.

Some savior she was. She hadn’t even lasted a minute.

“Now,” Octavia continued, her voice moving away from Clarke and her captor and towards Bellamy and Echo, “You let go of her now, and she’ll be given a chance to defend herself, or you don’t and she dies right here.”

Bellamy said what Clarke was thinking. “In your damn gladiator pits? No, Octavia. Let’s just talk about this.”

“Talk? What did I tell you about being the enemy of Wonkru, brother?”

She continued her diatribe, and Clarke wracked her brain for a way to free herself, urgency making her heart pound in her ears. She had to help Bellamy. She had to get away from all of these people and make a plan.

She could possibly punch—

But her train of thought fell away when Clarke heard small, quick footsteps drawing within earshot, thudding into the sand at a running pace.

 _Madi_. 

No.

Instantly, she threw caution to the wind and began wrestling against the guard’s grip. The knife cut ever so slightly into her throat, making her hiss from the sudden pain, but she pushed it away, willing any tears to come after this all was over. She punched and kicked against the air around him, desperate to land any blow, because _they were not going to get Madi_ , not while Clarke was alive—

“Subdue her!” shouted Octavia, and the guard’s grip on her intensified, ironlike.

But Clarke wasn’t giving up that easily. She snarled in a way that rivaled Octavia and dug her nails, long and raggedy from years in the wilderness, into the man’s arm. It was evidently just enough to make him loosen his grip, because he was very wiry, unnaturally skinny, and not strong enough to hold her. Years on half-rations in that hellhole bunker would do that to someone, she supposed.

Noticing this advantage, she took the slight opening to yank his hand away from her neck.

Then she spun, the techniques Madi had taught her from her preemptive conclave training—her parents had instilled some basics just in case she was caught—springing to her mind via muscle memory.

“Stop her!”

The order was useless. Clarke was already free, having kneed the man as hard as she could in between his legs, sending him keeling over into the glassy, worm-infested sand. She made a beeline for Miller, who was standing a few feet behind the rest of the group, staring at a fixed spot on the ground with narrowed eyes, seemingly lost inside his head, unaware of his surroundings. He didn’t look up as Clarke neared him.

“Leave her alone!” she heard Madi’s young voice say. There was the sound of a few of the guns being trained on her, instead, which only fueled Clarke’s rage even more.

 _They thought they could threaten Madi?_

No, they were dead.

Clarke slammed into Miller, knocking them both onto the ground; dazed, he attempted to pin her down in the sand, but was too slow. She spit in his face to make him let go of her, then kicked him between the legs too before yanking his gun out of its holster.

Shakily, she cocked it on Octavia. Everyone stopped moving.

“Stop,” Clarke intoned forcefully, hoping her voice wasn’t too weak. Between this and Diyoza’s lackey torturing her like an animal, her neck had been through a lot lately. “Everyone just stop.”

She glanced around.

They all looked back at her, Bellamy with a strange expression that she couldn’t quite place, Echo appraisingly, something like respect in her gaze, which made Clarke feel all the more guilty about being so touchy with Bellamy earlier. Madi’s eyes were panicked and questioning, darting between everyone, always returning, unsure, back to Clarke, because yet again within the span of days they had been drawn into a life-or-death scenario that Madi shouldn’t have had to deal with. Beyond the three of them, Monty and Harper had stopped abruptly and were taking small steps backward. Miller seemed pissed, but no more so than he normally did. The various other henchmen were split between indecisive and just barely holding back from killing her because the gun would kill them first.

But Octavia was livid, her eyes glinting eerily as she returned the gaze.

“No one needs to die,” Clarke breathed.

“Yes, someone does. This disrespect cannot stand.” Then she added, almost monotonously, “You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru. Choose.”

 _Easy_ , she wanted to say, _I pick enemy_. But her actions had already been reckless enough today despite her vow to be the head once again, and she needed to settle this standoff as quickly and bloodlessly as possible.

As bloodlessly as it could be when dealing with someone who called herself the Red Queen, anyway.

“Okay. Fine. I choose—”

“Choose me,” said Madi suddenly, stepping forward. She wasn’t speaking to Clarke, though, but instead bravely—and stupidly—holding eye contact with Octavia.

Clarke knew where this was going instantly, and she wasn’t going to allow it. “Madi, _no_.”

Madi ignored her, and the hopelessness Clarke always felt underneath everything began to well up towards the surface as tears pricked her eyes. 

“ _Skairipa_ ,” she began, the reverence in her voice making Clarke feel sick, “or I guess _Blodreina_ now. Take me and let everyone else go. I mean, please. If you want.”

Octavia stared at her, bemused and completely off-guard. “Who are you?”

“A _natblida_ ,” Madi answered without missing a beat, and Clarke hung her head in depressed resignation.

That was it, then.

She’d failed.

She felt Bellamy watching her, and looked up to see him searching her face with concern.

“And…” Drawing their attention away from each other, Madi stepped forward and whispered something into Octavia’s ear. She couldn’t imagine what she’d said to her—Clarke had only considered as far as the nightblood angle—but whatever it was, it was compelling: Octavia’s eyes widened and she examined Madi with sudden interest.

Madi stepped back very slightly, placing herself right in front of Bellamy and Echo. Clarke choked back a silent sob, angry with her for being so reckless but also full of pride.

“But we all go with you, not just me.”

Octavia considered it for a moment. “Fine,” she said.

And Clarke knew Madi’s fate was sealed.

As they set along the walk back toward the Second Dawn Bunker, Clarke grabbed Madi’s arm and pulled her aside. “What did you say to her?” she asked, glancing uneasily at the assorted guard in front of them.

Madi looked at her as though it were obvious. “I told her we could make her a nightblood. You know, like you. That way she’d be _Blodreina_ and _Heda_.” She paused. “You told me _Skairipa_ ’s not a bad person, and I know that’s true. But she wants to make people believe in her first. Like you believed in Bellamy and the others, or like I believe in you. And she doesn’t really have that now. So I gave her a way.”

In that moment, Clarke felt an overwhelming rush of affection for Madi and wrapped her arms around the girl. She leaned in, pressing her head against Clarke’s cheek.

Her daughter. So thoughtful, so smart, so kind. Who, as strange as it sounded, she aspired to be like.

“I believe in you, too,” she said, and kissed the top of her head. She pulled away and turned to meet Madi’s eyes, her palm cupping her cheek gently. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

Madi smiled. “I won’t.”

 _They would get through this_ , Clarke told herself.

 _Together_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write everyone as in-character as possible. Also, sorry about having Clarke hurt Miller here; I love him but given the internal angst I was implying for him, he would be the only one theoretically distracted enough for her to take control of the situation.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @hopewolves.


	2. Bellamy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is a bit similar to my first chapter because they originally started out as the same work.
> 
> I based it on a Tumblr crack post because I was bored lol, though I did try to make it more serious—see the end of the chapter for the specific post.
> 
> Abby’s POV at the end.

Bellamy uneasily observed Abby fiddling with the medical files.

Everyone who had been in that bunker was acting like one of Murphy’s alien-space-probe conspiracy victims—in other words, extremely, jarringly unnatural—and he didn’t like it one bit. 

His baby sister had become a fanatical tyrant that believed she could defy the elements. Miller and Jackson were common lackeys, doing everything they were told without complaint. And Kane? Bellamy had no idea what Kane was up to, but he had disappeared wordlessly into the wilderness days ago after speaking with Diyoza again and hadn’t come back. Not to mention Jaha had evidently been dead since the first few days following Praimfaya. 

With Abby, the change showed in her shaky hands, the muttering under her breath, her eyes squinting uncomprehendingly at the paper, the sweat beading across her forehead in this borderline chilly room. The way she seemed to be off in her own universe, completely unaware of her surroundings except for the task at hand.

 _Withdrawal_ , he heard Clarke’s voice say, hearkening back to when they’d all been holed up in the dropship years ago, trying to save Lincoln from the Reaper drug, the Grounders hovering menacingly over them. 

Bellamy sighed, rubbing his jaw nervously. _Clarke._

Ever since they’d taken her peace offer and come here a week ago, Diyoza had kept Clarke busy. She was constantly off leading missions around Eden all day with a group of Eligius people, only returning at nightfall. And then they left immediately at first light the next day. All week.

What he didn’t understand was _why._

“We need her expertise,” Diyoza claimed vaguely when he confronted her the other morning upon seeing Clarke’s distinctive bright blonde hair retreating into the greenery yet again, flanked by several ominous Eligius prisoners. Then she looked at him and added, her voice light but distinctly threatening, “Is there a problem?”

“No,” he grumbled, even though he didn’t buy it. 

What else could he say? The situation was too precarious. Since Clarke wasn’t being hurt, far be it from Bellamy to start something—no matter what Octavia said. He didn’t start wars that weren’t necessary, not anymore.

But the situation still bothered him.

For one, Bellamy was convinced she had intentionally split the group up to prevent them from formulating any plans. That’s why Bellamy and Abby were stuck in this room—Bellamy because in theory he could take out several prisoners without any weapons—Clarke was always in the woods, Kane had been sent on some fool’s errand, and Madi, Monty, and the others were all assigned various menial chores, none of them shared. 

And more importantly, he was uncomfortable because each time she was out there, Clarke was surrounded by murderers, and not the ones of necessity, like the kind this world made. These people were a century older because of cryo; they’d lived on Earth before the Ark, before A.L.I.E. destroyed it all. No, to be Eligius, they had murdered for far worse reasons than strategy or war.

Hatred. Anger.

Enjoyment.

And, strong and lethal as Clarke was, Diyoza had made sure she was unarmed. 

She was defenseless, and he ached to protect her.

Because she couldn’t die. Not again. He wouldn’t let her.

Even now, knowing full well she was alive, each time he noticed she was gone, Bellamy felt his stomach drop in horror, as though he’d dreamed this whole thing up and she was dead all over again. He only grounded himself when he looked over at the rover—and inside it, Madi, usually curled up on her and Clarke’s shared pallet like a cat. Each time, relief flooded his veins, as well as, for Madi, the same sort of warm parental feeling he still held for Octavia despite everything.

But also each time, no matter how many times it happened, the uneasiness never went away. It merely retreated, lurking, ever-present, right below the surface, over half a decade of psychological roots in the making. Just waiting for another bad thing to happen.

Worry aside, he also just missed Clarke. He wanted to talk to her, hug her, be around her all the time. Six years apart and he didn’t want to let her out of his sight again. 

Yet Diyoza wasn’t letting them interact—hell, she wasn’t even letting Clarke and her own mother interact—and it infuriated him.

“‘Graveyard.’ Yes, well, that would explain it,” said Abby absently to herself, drawing Bellamy back to the moment.

“What?” he asked.

Abby looked up, startled, as though just noticing he was there. She blinked several times and shivered before answering. “McCreary. I…was reading his file, and it says he’s called ‘Graveyard.’ Which is…r-really unoriginal considering his back is covered in crucifix tattoos…” 

She shuddered again and sat down, exhaling loudly as she did.

Bellamy shook his head, trying to banish the thought that had just sprung up in his mind. 

But, after a moment, he voiced it anyway. “You don’t think that…that the tattoos are for each person he’s killed, do you?”

He looked out the grime-covered window. Who was with Clarke today? Was this McCreary guy one of them?

Abby shrugged, one shoulder spasming slightly. “Wouldn’t surprise me. You said they’re all murderers.”

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair and began pacing. His mind began the one-track loop it had been in since Madi first came and told him the news. 

_She couldn’t die. Not again._

He needed to get out of here.

But just then, the door banged open, and Diyoza entered, followed by Clarke and three prisoners. Bellamy sighed, once again relieved, before noticing all of their tense body language.

“No, stop!” Clarke was yelling.

Diyoza nodded at one of the men, and he grabbed Clarke roughly, pulling her away from Diyoza. 

Both Bellamy and Abby started, Bellamy full of white-hot rage, and Abby probably as well. He began reaching for a gun that, after grasping feebly at air for a few moments, he realized they had already taken from him. 

The anger intensified. He knew he couldn’t trust these people.

He’d kill them for this.

“Let go of me,” Clarke snarled, and Bellamy took her in, making sure there were no injuries, that she was alright apart from being restrained. Nothing.

Diyoza ignored her and instead took a step towards Abby, all confidence and bluster.

“Well? Have you found a cure?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Abby stared at her incredulously. “It’s only been a week,” she said.

The colonel shut her eyes. “‘It’s only been a week,’” she repeated, her voice mocking.

Then, with no warning, she pulled out her gun and turned it on Clarke, clicking a round into the chamber while still holding steady eye contact with Abby.

Snapping, Bellamy lunged at her, but before he could go far at all even in this tiny cabin, the two other prisoners drew on him, and he stopped. Instead, he glanced briefly toward Abby, hoping desperately that she could somehow appease Diyoza. Then he let his eyes return to Clarke, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring look.

She looked back with a strange expression across her face. Sadness, almost.

“It’s been a week, yes,” Diyoza continued, “and you’ve made no progress.”

“It’s—you’ve made no—unbelievable—can’t even—expect—no understanding,” Abby spluttered, before taking a breath and holding up a shaky hand in a placating gesture and trying again. “It’s just science. You expect such thorough results in a very a short period of time.”

Diyoza looked unimpressed. “Give me something _now_ ,” she said, waving the gun slightly in emphasis, “or I kill your daughter and granddaughter right in front of you.”

“You don’t understand, it’s—” she stopped short, confused. “What did you just say?”

Diyoza rolled her eyes. “I said, ‘Give me something now or I kill your daughter and granddaughter right in front of you.’ Do I need to be clearer?”

Abby just stared at her. “My what?”

For the first time, Diyoza glanced at Bellamy. “Did you not tell her you and her”—she nodded towards Clarke—“have a kid, or something?”

Abby’s eyes darted from him to Diyoza and back again, then turned into a strange mixture of steely and wondering. “You have a what?” 

She seemed ready to fight him at the mere thought, shakes and all. And hug him.

Bellamy flushed, feeling the heat creeping into his cheeks despite the gravity of the matter at hand. He was not looking forward to any Griffin family drama, not now or ever. He’d been a witness to far too many showdowns between Clarke and Abby in the past, even over minor things.

And more importantly, he flushed because of the implications of having a child. Clarke’s child. His child. His and Clarke’s child. Their child. Together. 

Created by he and Clarke. Together.

So he just said, “No, no, no, Madi’s not my—”

At the same time, Clarke said from the corner, equally pink, “Bellamy isn’t—she’s not biologically—”

Diyoza waved them both off, disinterested. “Regardless of the semantics…McCreary!”

The door banged open again, and the man called McCreary, who Bellamy recognized with another flash of anger as Diyoza’s lackey who had tortured Clarke with that shock collar, entered, holding Madi in the same restrained way as Clarke. 

The girl seemed both scared and angry, her face contorted into a posturing glare as she was forced into the room, but she was too small to wriggle free of McCreary’s grip. She and Clarke exchanged a knowing, worried look, clearly speaking with each other without saying anything—like Clarke and Bellamy used to do, before everything.

“Let go of me,” she said to McCreary in the same tone as Clarke had said to her respective captor a moment earlier.

Diyoza squinted at Madi, then Abby. “You may not know her,” she drawled, striding over to the side of the room opposite Bellamy and picking up a yellowed sheet of paper, then thrusting it in Abby’s face, “but she seems to mean a lot to your daughter. That’s why I believe you’ll do as I say. Because you care about Clarke.”

Despite himself, Bellamy craned his neck to peer at the paper and saw—a drawing.

Clarke’s drawing of Madi, obviously, though this Madi was around seven, not a teenager, and judging by her mane of hair and cold eyes, distinctly more feral. Bellamy matched the image up with the girl in front of him—softer but still full of conviction—and could see Abby doing the same.

Behind him, Clarke started straining against her captor at the sight of Diyoza holding the picture. “Stop. Stop. Don’t.”

Diyoza once again ignored her, pretending to be fascinated by the sketch. She stroked one finger across its length before turning back to Clarke, Bellamy, Abby, and Madi.

Then, locking eyes with Clarke, she ripped the paper down the middle in one fluid motion.

As Clarke let out a small whimper that made his heart start twisting in on itself, Bellamy’s hands curled up into fists at his sides. 

_My sister, my responsibility_ was quickly becoming _her child, our responsibility_ in his mind. Because even if Madi wasn’t technically his child, she was certainly Clarke’s, blood or not.

And, six-year separation or not, he and Clarke were family.

That made Madi family.

Besides, Bellamy wasn’t about to let Diyoza hurt a child, regardless of who she was.

“Leave her out of this,” Bellamy growled. He felt all of them looking toward him, but kept his focus on Diyoza.

She shrugged. “I’ll consider it, if the doctor gives me something. Those are my terms.”

Abby shook her head, pleading. “I don’t—”

“A waste,” the colonel said loudly, cutting her off. “I actually like you all. It’s a shame our story together had to end so soon.”

“Stay away from them or I swear I’ll kill you myself!” he said, chest heaving with barely-controlled rage. The one soldier adjusted his gun to be trained on him even more explicitly, but he didn’t care. Guns and threats were more common in this world than air.

Diyoza smiled eerily at him. “Do you have any solutions? Because if not, I’d keep quiet.”

“Wait.”

Behind her, Abby had suddenly gone stock-still, eyes widening with realization much in the same way Clarke’s always did when she figured something out. “I think I have something,” she said.

Diyoza motioned to the men, who lowered their weapons. 

The one prisoner let go of Clarke, instantly relaxing most of the muscles in Bellamy’s body that had gone taut during the standoff, but then he looked over and saw McCreary hadn’t complied along with the rest of them. He still gripped Madi’s wrists tightly, and one of his hands seemed to be itching for the shock collar at his belt. Diyoza, who had already begun discussing the medical issue with Abby, didn’t notice.

Clarke did, though, and in seconds she had crossed the room and was staring McCreary down, fire in her bright blue eyes. 

“Get your hands off her, or I’ll show you a shock,” she threatened, pointedly indicating the collar.

Diyoza raised her head at the words and took in the scene. 

Instantly, pure exasperation clouded her features. “McCreary, _now_ ,” she said.

After a short staring match, McCreary relented and released her, grumbling to himself.

Diyoza twitched. “You’re tiring me lately, McCreary.” 

Then she went back to Abby.

Now free, Madi stumbled into Clarke’s arms, a single tear running the length of her cheek. Clarke, in turn, stumbled slightly as she caught her, and both girls wrapped their arms around each other tightly. After a moment, Clarke shifted her chin and made eye contact Bellamy over Madi’s shoulder, giving him a small, vulnerable smile.

Hesitantly, Bellamy took a step towards them.

Clarke let go of Madi and then pulled him into his own bone-crushing hug. “It’s okay,” she said into his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

Bellamy nearly relaxed into it as always, but then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Madi standing there watching them, unsure and stopped.

Clarke took notice and pulled away from him slightly, following his gaze. 

Upon noticing Madi, she smiled again, wider. With one outstretched hand, she beckoned to the girl. 

“Come here, you,” Clarke said, her voice light and teasing in a way Bellamy rarely heard from her.

Now Madi was the one taking a hesitant step. But Clarke made the hand motion again, and she obeyed, closing the distance quickly.

Clarke enveloped them both in an awkward but strong group hug, and Bellamy stilled, utterly relaxed, breathing it in. 

He’d had this kind of kinship on the Ring, of course. He wasn’t starved for socialization the way both Madi and Clarke were. But regardless, nothing came close to the feeling of this reminder of a more innocent Octavia, back before he’d gotten her caught. 

Just like nothing came close to Clarke—his best friend, his partner, his…

More than that.

She was even more than that to him. He’d always known that, but it was clearer than ever now.

And he was never letting her go again.

—

From the other side of the room, Abby regarded the strange situation in front of her: her daughter, and Bellamy, and _her daughter’s daughter_ , essentially, and how they fit together.

Diyoza impatiently snapped in front of her face several times.

“What’s the fix?” she demanded, slamming her fist down on the table.

But Abby was too distracted by the relentless buzzing in her head, and she hyper-focused on what was in front of her to try and drown it out.

“If they hadn’t told me the kid wasn’t biologically theirs, I wouldn’t have guessed,” the colonel said wryly, jerking her head towards the three kids—well, adults, now, Abby supposed, at least in regards to Clarke and Bellamy. Diyoza’s tone was slightly more friendly, as though that would make Abby likely to comply somehow. “Girl literally looks like the genetic combination of the two of ’em. They don’t look old enough to be her parents, but he _did_ threaten to kill my entire army for her, so I just assumed.”

“Yeah,” Abby mumbled noncommittally. It was very hot in here, and the yelling and arguing certainly hadn’t helped the headache she’d had for several days now.

“Listen, I don’t know what the situation is here,” Diyoza continued, gesturing vaguely toward the three, now broken apart and quietly discussing something, and Abby scrunched up her face trying to concentrate on her words, “but again, just give me something to work with and I’ll give you a break. You can talk with Clarke...or with the other two. Some quality time, anyway, where you’re not working on this. Sound good?”

Abby sighed. That did sound good, but she had other priorities. Only then—once she’d fixed herself, once she felt better—could she begin to focus on Clarke.

So she shook her head vehemently. “No.”

“No?” 

Even though it was only a single word, Diyoza somehow managed to lace it with the poison of unspoken threats, something she excelled at.

“No,” Abby repeated, ignoring the tone and snatching McCreary’s file off the table as some sort of symbol for her refusal. “You give me my pills back, and you don’t hold them over me from now on. Promise me that, and _then_ I’ll tell you.”

Diyoza scoffed. “Even though if you don’t tell me now, I’ll kill them?”

Abby reddened but said nothing, ashamed by her own ultimatum. 

But she didn’t take it back. She couldn’t.

Diyoza didn’t understand. Abby needed those pills. They were the only thing that had kept her feeling any semblance of normal ever since A.L.I.E. and the City of Light. They took the edge off when things got so horrible in the bunker that she wanted to end it all.

More than Marcus, more than the hope of Clarke, those pills had saved her.

She couldn’t live without them.

And, more important to Diyoza, she’d be useless without them.

“Whatever,” Diyoza said after a moment. “You can have your damn pills. Now tell me your theory, and we’ll see if you deserve it.”

Abby nodded.

“So here’s what I think...” she began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this Tumblr post by @thefandomthoughts:
> 
> Dioyza to Abby: Save his life or I will kill your daughter and your granddaughter!  
> Abby: wait my what  
> Dioyza to Bellamy: You didn’t tell her you and your girlfriend have a daughter?  
> Abby to Bell: YOU HAVE A WHAT  
> Bellamy: No no no Madi isn’t our—  
> Bellamy hears Madi screaming: HEY GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY DAUGHTER I SWEAR TO THE ROMAN GODS I WILL KILL YOU IF YOU LAY A HAND ON HER  
> Anyway lol, let me know what you think!
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr @hopewolves.


End file.
